


Precursor

by Slutspeare



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Canon Compliant, I love him, canon character death, he deserved so much better, i love draal so fricking much, trollhunters fanbook 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21749404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slutspeare/pseuds/Slutspeare
Summary: noun: a person or thing that comes before another of the same kind; a forerunner
Relationships: Draal & Jim Lake Jr. (Tales of Arcadia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Precursor

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece for the Trollhunters Fanbook that was recently released and SOLD OUT!! It was such a great experience to get to work with some amazing creators and I loved being a part of a charity fanwork. Search for the Trollhunters Fanbook on tumblr to see some INCREDIBLE artwork, cosplay, and written pieces!
> 
> Enjoy!

He had expected the news to come with the Amulet.

It was not supposed to happen so soon, but Draal had always known that one day his father would not return to Trollmarket, and instead his voice would call out of cold metal, and Draal would take up the mantle of his father, but he would never lose him, not entirely. As long as he was destined to be the Trollhunter, he would always be his father’s son, and he would always have an ally at his side.

Instead, the news arrived in the form of a panicking Blinkous Galadrigal, who stopped only long enough to offer Draal his condolences before hurrying off to inform Vendel about the development from the surfacelands. It wasn’t nearly enough. Not by half.

Nor was the bare spit of flesh that Blinky led down into Trollmarket mere days later. James Lake Jr.’s name was a thin twist of sounds, ones that were hard to grasp with a troll tongue, and Draal did not like it. Or the boy the name belonged to. The combined loss of his father and purpose rose up like an avalanche, an army waiting to decimate the small human who gazed at his new world with eyes like scrying pools.

Draal was not good at challenging his feelings, so instead he challenged the fleshbag. Blinky was displeased. The boy was just confused.

_Good_, Draal thought, _The Gumm-Gumm who killed my father will not show you mercy either. _He would not give Bular the respect of a name, even in his own thoughts.

He also refused to call the fleshbag “Trollhunter.” That was his father’s title, and it would be his, once Draal had killed this fake champion.

“You do not want to kill him,” Vendel said.

Draal dragged his head from the mug of glug he had been drowning it in. The rest of the troll pub was almost empty, which was the only reason that Vendel’s presence was not causing a scene. “Yes, I do.”

“No,” Vendel repeated, “You don’t.”

“Don’t pretend to understand my plight, Vendel,” Draal growled.

To his credit, Vendel only sighed patiently. “Your grief is warranted, son of Kanjigar. But your father would not want this anger. It only serves to make you reckless.”

“At least it does not serve to make me weak.”

The fleshbag ordered a fight in front of all of Trollmarket. In the Hero’s Forge. It was just as well. Draal had spent centuries in the Forge. He would lay waste to the fleshbag there, and the Amulet would once again be his birthright, and then they would see that it was wrong to think a human child could take his place. Merlin was wrong. If Bular was on the surface, they would need a true Trollhunter to defeat him, not a boy who had yet to make his first kill.

That kill remained distant. Beyond all odds, the fleshbag child tricked Draal, knocking him from the ground that he knew as well as his father’s stern voice, throwing him out, over the abyss, clinging to the side of the cliff. He looked into the child’s eyes, into the point of his father’s sword, and for a single second, wondered what it felt like to die.

He would not find out, because the fleshbag—the _Trollhunter_—refused the kill that was his rightful reward. Draal did not die, and he felt the scorn of his people on his back as he left Trollmarket.

It was almost worse.

He found himself in the forest that surrounded Arcadia Oaks, the light of the sun blinking out at the horizon. His father, his future, and his home. All gone. And yet, somehow, Draal didn’t feel like a door had been closed.

Only opened.

He watched the sun set fire to the trees, and went to seek out the Trollhunter.

Most of Draal's decisions were easy after that. 

It took him no time at all to seize Nomura and drag her away from the bathroom door that the Trollhunter was behind. Once the boy was safe from the changeling’s clutches, it only made sense for him to stay. The boy needed protecting, after all, and Draal needed a place to channel the restless energy and combat knowledge he had stored in each and every muscle of his body. Jim—because Draal could think of him as _Jim_ now, and wasn’t that a revelation—was a quick learner, and Blinky’s strategy and history teachings combined with some actual weapons training gave the Hunter a passing skill set. He may not have been Kanjigar, but then again, neither was Draal.

He had thought losing a limb would have been a much harder sacrifice to make, but in the moment, when he was launching himself through the air to seize the Amulet, ablaze with blue fire, and tearing it from the crumbling Killahead bridge, the only thing Draal could think was, _I will not allow Jim to bear the weight of this_.

He woke in the ruins of the museum, his right arm shattered into dust, and all he felt was relief.

That feeling was short-lived, even with the news of Bular’s death. There were new threats to deal with, and Draal spent a good percentage of that time learning to work with his new prosthetic arm. Time sped by in a burst, and then Jim was gone, the Darklands swallowing him whole.

_The Darklands._ Draal had never suspected that he would enter the borders of Gunmar’s realm, and as he stood in front of the newly-built Killahead bridge (this time, ironically, constructed by the heroes themselves), the metal of his arm creaking in time to the ticking of the Amulet whirring above his head, the decision to go in after his friends was like taking a breath.

He would have lost another arm to get Jim out of there, and it was only through sheer luck that he did not have to.

Instead, only a few days later, he lost his mind.

The bite of the Decimaar blade was like the pain after a sunburn; hot, cloying, and gnawing at the edges of reality until it all fell away, and Draal felt nothing.

Coming back to himself was the worst part.

The waters of Merlin’s Tomb washed over Draal’s skin, and every pain that he had not felt as Gunmar’s pawn rushed in at once. The memories were blurred, and he rifled through the onslaught as quickly as he could when Gunmar and Angor Rot were battling him back into submission, picking out bits and pieces, _did I hurt them, did I hurt my friends, did I hurt Jim_?

It didn’t matter, in the end. Draal was free just long enough to know that he was forgiven.

Death was not an unfamiliar sensation.

But it was cold.

Draal did not hear his father’s voice insomuch as he sensed it.

_My son. You have done well. _

He opened his eyes. The Void was not what he had expected. It was not suffocating and dark, but open, filled with light, and held a sharp tang, like the bite of metal when there was blood in your mouth.

He pushed himself to his feet, only marveling for a second that he had two arms again.

_What happened? _

_You fulfilled your oath_, Kanjigar said, a soft smile that Draal had rarely seen in life crossing his face. _I am so proud of you. _

_But I… I was weak. I could not protect them. Gunmar used me, and I did nothing. _

_Gunmar has used many, my son._ Kanjigar’s words were broken by the muttering from the rest of the Fallen, spinning in the empty space. _You did not fail. _

_Why am I here? _

_You were a trollhunter. _

_No, _Draal said, _No, Jim was the Trollhunter. _

_And yet that’s not the mantle he used. _Kanjigar sounded amused, if a disembodied ghost could._ He called you “trollhunters.” Not one, but many. It was his strength. You were his strength. And he is going to need you. _

_I am here_, Draal said, _How will he reach me? _

_He is a trollhunter_, Kanjigar said, _He knows the way. _

In the end, it was AAARRRGGHH!!! who summoned them. The trollhunters—not one, but many—fled from the Void, swarming the enemy that dared to take their home, fighting for Merlin, fighting for their people, fighting for _Jim_.

Draal stayed with them, one light amidst the stars, relishing in the feeling of a form that had two arms, that would not tire, that would protect his friends for as long as they needed him. He would be there until the very end.

After all, he had made an oath.


End file.
